


Reunion

by sunaddicted



Series: Tumblr Prompts 2018 [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Post-War of the Ring, Reunions, Self Confidence Issues, Short & Sweet, The Void, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: It hurt more than any wound he had ever been inflicted in battle; more than drowning alive in Númenor, his efforts to attack Valinor failed; more than his very essence being destroyed together with the ring.





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an anon on Tumblr

_Reunion_

The Void was

\- it wasn’t anything like Mairon had imagined it would be, despite its more than accurate and descriptive name.

The Void was empty and seemingly endless, but it also felt solid under his feet - as if he was walking upon Arda’s ground, on which he had spilled so much blood and that he had shaken with his armies in a war that he could barely remember when it had started - and the air wasn’t clear, Mairon had the distinctive feeling that there were entities hiding in the evanescent milky fog.

Such as Morgoth.

 _Melkor_ , Mairon shook his head in self-reproach: ages spent alone amongst elves and humans who spat hatred upon his beloved had wormed their way into his heart and the once loathed name fell naturally from his lips.

Naturally and wrongly.

His lover was no Dark Enemy - he was the Mighty Arising, a saviour, and the only one who had seen that Eru was keeping its creation caged and oppressed, cut off from its true potential.

And Mairon had just kept the vision alive, even when his beloved had been trapped behind the Doors of Night where he would never be able to reach him again.

At least not until his empire had fallen to ashes; the One Ring cast into molten lava and destroyed; his spirit sapped of all its strenght.

Mairon wandered into the Void and wondered about whether he was retracing his steps, walking in circles on the same spot.

Maybe that was his punishment: stuck in repetition, unable to escape it.

Over and over.

“Mel?”

Only echoes of his own voice - so clear: Mairon couldn’t remember the last time his voice hadn’t been a rasping sound that seemed to endlessly drag against his vocal chords before coming to life - answered him, almost mocking.

Had Melkor gotten lost in the Void, wandered so far that he couldn’t sense his presence nor hear his call?

Or was the Vala purposefully ignoring him, displeased by what he had done on Arda?

The thought was enough to cut Mairon’s breath short in his throat: he had devoted his existence to the Vala - since the first day of Creation, when Mairon had listened to Melkor’s discordant and yet beautiful song. But he had failed him, hadn’t he? He had been defeated - by an Halfling, not even by an elf.

What a humiliation.

“Mai?”

Mairon turned around, following the sound of that voice that had been living only in his head for the past centuries, half-forgotten and blurred by grief and time “Melkor” he exhaled, lips trembling at the cherished sight of his beloved: he looked just as fierce and devastatingly beautiful as the last time Mairon had seen him during the War of Wrath, in a brief moment of respite during which Mairon had raised his gaze to check upon his lover.

Had he known it would have been the last time his eyes drank in the Vala’s presence, Mairon would have looked for longer - seared those features in his retinas. But he had turned his eyes away too quickly, his attention called back to the battle by a piercing scream he couldn’t quite recall from where it had come.

Mairon walked closer, one hand raised in front of him with the need to… just touch. Touch and reassure himself that it wasn’t some cruel evanescent mirage the Valar were punishing him with, that Melkor truly was standing in front of him.

Melkor, who took a step back.

It hurt more than any wound he had ever been inflicted in battle; more than drowning alive in Númenor, his efforts to attack Valinor failed; more than his very essence being destroyed together with the ring.

“Mairon?”

“Have you forgotten about me?” Mairon murmured, spying the confusion in his lover’s eyes “Melkor?”

“Little Flame”

Mairon nodded: yes, that was how the Vala had used to call him - even back when they had both been living in Valinor, hidden from the Anuir’s malignant gazes by the dense night and the thick forest. He tried stepping closer again, comforted by hearing those words: maybe Melkor was just as afraid as he was about him being a mirror-image? “It’s me, beloved”

Instead of stepping back, Melkor reached out and touched his fingers to Mairon’s, feeling under his digits old calluses and patches of burnt skin: the hands of someone who had slaved their youth in a forge, bent over a bench “Mairon. How could I ever forget about you?”


End file.
